


til death do us part

by 991102



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: M/M, it's a vampire au but there's like 2 seconds of actual blood loving behavior, mentions of blood cause um they are vampires, mentions of violence too, what an underwhelming return to the tag hello
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 10:36:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/991102/pseuds/991102
Summary: sike they can't die





	til death do us part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldavn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldavn/gifts).



> for em!!! i hope you like it sweetz <3 i'm sorry i took so long mwah
> 
> not beta read or edited cause i suck

the first time woojin sees him is under the light of the moon and the orange glow of lanterns.

 

this time around woojin has compelled a noble into thinking he was a young scholar by the name of song jiyeom, a pupil from the northern territory, and the old man has housed woojin for the past month, allowing him to tag along to gatherings and the annual fall harvest festival in the heart of the palace.

 

woojin plays the part seamlessly, as he always did with the identities he slipped into, scholarly and mannered in his silk robes, but it’s still difficult to resist sinking his fangs into the closest human. woojin closes his eyes and draws his energy to his core, suppressing his primal thirst for blood as well as he can in what is, in his eyes, a five course dinner.  

 

“the palace always looks majestic during festivals.” notes the old man, sighing in content as he stares up at the hanging lights; the glow of the lanterns casting a soft orange onto the world below.

 

woojin nods at the noble’s words, though his eyes wander to the monarchs and untouchable nobles watching the kingdom’s body move from the palace balconies. woojin’s eyes catch on a boy, woojin’s age—his age when he turned—at most, and he thinks his heart skips a beat. the thought itself is insane because woojin’s heart _can’t_ beat, but the boy may be the epitome of beauty, the type to catch your eyes and lure you in until you’re too far gone, too far entranced, to look away.

 

stare still pinned on the boy’s striking features, woojin dumbly mumbles, “it is the most beautiful thing i have had the honor to look upon, my lord.”

 

nothing, woojin thinks, could be more majestic than the boy standing with his shoulders squared behind the divine ruler of the land; unchallenged authority in the royal robes draped over his figure; elegance in his mannerisms and poise; delicacy in the soft warmth of his smile.

 

the crown prince.

 

he is regal.

 

woojin wonders if the boy would send his royal guards after him if he were to flash his fangs.

 

a vampire has no place in the heart of the palace—no place in the heart of the crown prince.

 

“what is the crown prince’s name, my lord?”

 

the old man ponders it for a moment. “if my memory has not failed me yet at my age, i’d say his highness’s name is jihoon.”

 

_jihoon._

 

woojin is about to ask another question when he’s struck with an instinctive bad feeling. it’s an unmistakable sound, far still, but closing in; the thundering of someone approaching, _a lot_ of someones approaching; the pounding of a horse’s hooves; the battle cry of warriors; the roaring of torches; heavy clashing of metal on metal and the _tap tap tap_ of arrows.

 

an army is coming.

 

the palace is under attack.

 

woojin looks back at the king and his company.

 

it’s with a kind of pity that woojin comes to the understanding that they will not live to watch the sunrise.

 

he knows it’s coming, and yet, he cannot do a thing.

 

war is a mortal’s game.

 

woojin’s stare wanders to the boy to the right of the king, and he sighs.

 

the thundering is loud now, and the humans begin to scream, running at the understanding that war is upon them. woojin gags at the overwhelming stench of blood that surrounds him from all sides, and he slaps the arrow that comes just inches from the old noble that had housed him up until that point, shouting at him to run for his life.

 

woojin takes one last look in the boy’s direction, but finds him gone.

 

he prays that the prince will be okay.

 

the second time woojin sees him, he’s in a pool of crimson.

 

the crown prince lay in a puddle of his own blood, an arrow lodged in his stomach.

 

he won’t live.

 

from the pain and anguish in his once clear eyes, the boy knows it too.

 

woojin sighs and his chest tightens at the sound of the prince’s shallow breathing. “this sucks.”

 

“who are you?” the boy asks, voice strained. woojin imagines he must be near to choking on his blood.

 

woojin worries at his lip as he stares at the life draining from the boy’s face, eyes falling closed and fingers uncurling from the clutch he has on the arrow in his gut. woojin has to act fast. he doesn’t know _what_ he’s supposed to do, or if he’s supposed to _do it_ , or if he _should_ do it, or if he _wants_ to do it, but something about the boy makes woojin want to save him. woojin _has_ to save him, or he won’t be able to live with himself.

 

the boy’s breathing slows and he chokes out a quiet “i don’t want to die.”

 

and that’s enough for woojin.

 

woojin bites his wrist and holds it against the boy’s lips, other hand supporting his head. “you won’t. not if you do as i say.” woojin hisses as the boy suddenly snaps to attention and drinks from woojin’s wrist.

 

“my name is park woojin.” woojin says softly, stroking the prince’s face as he eases off of woojin’s blood. “i’m sorry i did this to you.”

 

“what do you mean?”

 

“you will understand once you awaken,” woojin’s heart drops, taking one final look at the human boy; the pain and anguish of a weakened mortal; the youth and innocence of a kid who can’t be past twenty years of age. “and you will hate me for it.”  

 

woojin closes his eyes and snaps the boy’s neck.

 

the third time woojin sees him is in the rush of pink cherry blossoms and falling petals; in the laughter of children and light scolding of parents; in the sunshine of a tuesday morning.

 

slowly swaying on the swing, woojin watches as the kids run around the swing set in a game of tag. he’s simply taking in the peace and quiet of the neighborhood park when he’s hit with a sudden prick of panic.

 

someone is watching him.

 

his eyes snap up, darting in the direction of the stare boring into him, and his breath hitches.  

 

there are no lanterns; there are no monarchs shot in the heart with an arrow; there is not the blood and chaos of a palace under attack; there is not the death of a king and the vanishing of a prince; there is not a beautiful crown prince and a bloodthirsty vampire in hiding as a scholar. there is none of that, and yet, woojin thinks he must be living the moment a second time.

 

_“it is the most beautiful thing i have had the honor to look upon, my lord.”_

 

doe eyes, sharp nose, rosy lips.

 

_“who are you?”_

 

woojin’s heart skips a beat.

 

woojin’s mouth moves on it’s own. “it’s you again.”

 

it’s the boy he had fallen for that night; the boy he had loved for twelve lifetimes without so much as a kiss; the boy who was the first human woojin had turned; the boy who he is so sincerely apologetic to; the boy who he hopes can forgive him.

 

“good to know you remember me.” the boy calls out.

 

woojin’s voice is barely above a whisper into the wind, but he knows jihoon can pick up on it. “i couldn’t forget you if i tried.”

 

the boy has come to a stop just inches from woojin, looking down on him with his hands shoved into the pocket of a big hoodie.

 

he looks just as beautiful as he did on that night.

 

it’s with an almost fuzzy, warm feeling that woojin finally comes to a conclusion: distance, time, and fate won’t ( _can’t_ ) separate them. from the first time woojin laid eyes on him to right in this moment, woojin knows—a whole millennium couldn’t change his mind—, for him, it always was, and will always be jihoon.

 

“so,” jihoon’s smile is just as warm, as radiant as the lanterns that lit the night sky, and his eyes dance with a fire that woojin knows will never burn out—as long as they both walk this earth, woojin will make sure to protect that fire. “how long have you waited for me?”

 

woojin wonders if this is what love is—if the mortal beating of his heart (and the boy that comes along with it) is what he had lost and found again.

 

in jihoon’s eyes though is a look that voices the emotions that woojin doesn’t have words for—curious and soft is the look of wonder; dark and heavy is the look of pain; innocent and eager is the look of youth; old and calm is the look of wisdom; warm and delicate is the look of love.

 

woojin can’t read the hundred sides of jihoon just yet, but he decides that he has all the time in the world to figure him out.

 

he stands, eyes locked with jihoon’s, and he matches jihoon’s smile. “a thousand years, your highness.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on the twitter i'm @applewooj i'm nice i swear on it


End file.
